


with you

by fuglychan



Series: honey i'm home [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Home, Hurt/Comfort, Minor, Tickling, Ticklish Sam Winchester, found family trope, very little hurt, wholesome fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuglychan/pseuds/fuglychan
Summary: Sometimes Dean gets like this... Nostalgic, definitely, mixed with an emotion Sam can't place a word for.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, but u can read it as such?, isn't really slash, they all love each other but interpret it however haha
Series: honey i'm home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892260
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	with you

There’s a lot of things Dean missed about having a home. Having a fridge? A pantry? Their own bathroom? Being able to have a bedroom and lay weapons around without having to worry about a maid seeing it? A place to come home too after a particularly hard case? 

Yeah. There was a lot of things they missed out on. But now, with the bunker? Things were a lot better. 

He could tell Sam was happy there too. It was the most domestic he had ever gotten. Dean was young when they lived in the Kansas home, but Sam was even younger. This is the first home he ever really had. 

Of course, if you ask Sam (especially younger Sam), he would gladly tell you home is with his brother. Dean would say Baby, no hesitation. 

The bunker is really the best of both worlds, though. 

One of Dean’s favorites, though, what he’s really missed, or more so, what he’s always dreamed of having. 

Sitting on his big, leather couch with a beer in his hand and his brother at his side (sometimes) - As much as he loved Sam, he loved the space he got from him. Not only did he live with him but he worked with him. They rarely got time apart. Alone time was a blessing. And now they have separate rooms.

But, yeah, the couch thing was great. 

“I’ve seen this one before,” Sam pointed out, dropping his glass on the table. 

“Stop seeing movies while I’m dead or in hell, and you won’t have to watch reruns.” 

Sam scoffed but fell silent. 

For a second. 

“Gimme the remote.” 

“No.” 

“Dean.” 

“Sam, no, go watch in your room.” 

He slouched down in his seat and mumbled, “I like this one better.” 

Dean turned to Sam, tucking his feet under himself. “Okay, if I  _ did  _ give you the remote, what would you turn on?”

Sam paused to think. “The office.” 

Dean turned the volume up on the TV. 

“Or, or, a horror movie? Or, something funny?” Sam deflated. “Anything that’s not a movie I’ve already seen.” 

“Fine. I’ll switch it to  _ Outer Banks  _ if you admit I’m a benevolent big brother.” 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “You wanna watch  _ Outer Banks?”  _

“I can enjoy a mystery or two.” 

“Sometimes I forget how much of a nerd you are.” 

“Shut up, college boy.” 

An outsider would’ve missed the way Sam’s lip quirked just the slightest bit, but not Dean, not the person who grew up next to this boy who spent most of his childhood perfecting a way to hide his laugh from Dean. Perfect is said lightly here. Dean can always tell. 

Dean thinks he’s hilarious. Sam won’t give in easily, but sometimes he can’t help but chuckle. Mostly, he gets a light scoff, and if he looks close enough, he can see the hidden smile. 

But the best times are when Sam laughs. It’s a rare sound; he really doesn’t do it enough. Usually he laughs when a prank has gone in his favor or a pickup line of Dean’s backfired on him, which, again, is also rare. 

When was the last time he had laughed? 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sam asked, grabbing his glass again. 

“Looking at you like what?” 

Sam went tight-lipped. “You know what, Dean.” 

He shrugged. “Enlighten me, Sammy.” 

Sam let it go. They started the show. Not long after, Sam got comfortable, stretching his legs out on the couch, barely touching Dean. 

“Dude.” 

“What?” 

“Your feet are touching me.” 

Sam huffed. “I--” 

“I know you’re a growing boy, but keep your moose legs on that side of the couch.” 

There’s other seats in the living room, but that fact never popped into either of their heads. 

“We should get a… What are they called?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “The thing you put your feet on.” 

“A brother?” 

“Nice one,” Dean said, parroting his tight-lipped expression. “No, a… A footstool!” 

“I think we should buy a Switch instead,” Sam suggested. “Why do we need a footstool when I can just put my feet on you?” 

“Sam, trust me, you don’t want to play this game.” 

“Oh, I think I want to play this game.” 

Clearly, Sam was bored because he was itching for a fight, which was usually Dean’s go to when he was bored. 

Dean grabbed ahold of his foot and pushed it back towards Sam. Sam fought his grip but gave up quickly because of how tired he is. He moved to swing his feet out in front of him and stretch out, but Dean wasn’t letting him go that easily. 

“You really wanna fight, Dean? Cause I’m not a little boy anymore. I’ll kick your ass.” 

_ Trust me. You don’t think I know? You don’t think I’m painfully aware of how strong my wimpy ass string bean brother is now?  _

It’s terrifying, quite frankly. 

Dean was silent, oddly so. Sam waited for him to taunt him back, but it never came. 

…

“Did you just steal my sock?” 

Sam didn’t even fight him. Eyebrows knitted in confusion, Sam went to sit up, but Dean’s tight grip on his leg kept him in place. 

Dean wished he could take a picture of Sam’s face when realization dawned in on him. “Thought you wanted to play, Sammy.” 

“Nope,” he said quickly. “I don’t. Let’s just watch, okay?” 

“Why would I do that? I didn’t mean to ignore you. I am so, so sorry.” Sam was so fucked. 

He moved to get away from him, but Dean was already tickling his foot. “Dean, stop!” His voice was rough, but he quickly shut his mouth to try and hide a laugh. 

“Cat got your tongue?” 

Sam pried at Dean to get his foot out of his grip. When he wouldn’t budge, he went to kick him with his other foot, which he caught. “You used to do that when you were younger too, you know.” 

Sam couldn’t listen. He was too busy scrambling away from him and trying to keep a stoic expression on his face to listen, which, of course, Dean wasn’t having. “Let go of me; I’m serious!” 

“After Dad was gone for a while, you’d pick fights with me. You’d steal stuff from my room, hide my guns, do anything to piss me off. You remember why?” 

“Dean, I swear--” Sam moved to hit him, but Dean anticipated it and climbed over him. 

“I know you remember because you’re doing it right now.” 

“No, this is diff--” He stopped himself short. “Dean, just get the hell off of me.” 

“Not till you tell me.” 

“I’m not saying shit!” Sam rolled out to get away from him, sending them tumbling into the ground. Dean let go of his foot and went to dig his hands into his side, and Sam couldn’t help but let out a small squeak. “Fuck off, Jerk!” He huffed. “And don’t you ‘bitch’ me!” 

“You were always too smart for your own good.” Dean sighed heavily and dramatically, as if it was the end of the world that his brother was practically a genius. “Though, you’re not smart enough to trick me. I lived with you for too long.” 

“Really? I never thought we were that close,” Sam taunted. 

“You know what? You’re right.” He paused. “If we  _ were  _ close, I would know that you loved being bullied by your favorite big brother.” 

“I’m going to knock you on your ass--” Sam, staying true to his word, pushed back against Dean, and they were rolling on the floor - each one of them struggling to get on top. 

Though, it was no contest. Dean had a trick up his sleeve. Foolproof, really. 

The second Dean squeezed his side, Sam was putty in his hands. “A-A..Asshole!” Sam could’ve fought back, but he was so weak like this. Instead, he made the (un)wise decision to clamp his hands down over his mouth to try and shut up. 

Surely the practice from not whining about a bullet wound would come in handy here. 

Except, his torturer was pretty dead set on making him cry. “You still haven’t told me my answer, Sam.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I dunno, Sam, you’re usually not that dumb. Where’s my boy genius?” 

“I’m not answering your trick question, dude.” 

“Aw, come on. What’s the worst that can happen?” 

Sam narrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t like you.” 

Dean gasped. “Now… That’s just cold. I just want you to be happy, Sammy.” He took the chance to attack his other side, and Sam moved to throw him off. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Sam said, struggling to move, but he was too focused on holding in a laugh to escape his grip. “You’re acting weird.” 

“I’m not acting weird.  _ You’re  _ avoiding my question.” Sam kicked him then out of frustration, but Dean only caught his foot. Instantly, wanting to avoid that mistake, he struggled to yank his foot back away from Dean. 

“We’re not kids anymore, man, get off!” 

It was too late.

Sam made one crucial mistake. In his struggle, he carelessly let his shirt slip up, exposing his midriff. His shirts barely covered him anyways - it was always a struggle to find shirts that weren’t a crop top on him. It’s annoying really. Even worse in a fight. Makes one real vulnerable to a raspberry. 

“Fuck you, Dean!” Sam said, a giggle escaping with his curse. He covered it up with another hit, but Dean brushed it off. In his jumbled mess, his punches didn’t hurt.  _ That  _ bad. 

“That’s not nice. You should treat me with more respect.” He lowered his voice. “I was only asking you a question.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I think you do.” 

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean cracked a smile. “No, I’m serious. What’s wrong with you? Did that ghoul do a number on your head or something?”

“Maybe it did,” he agreed, going silent after that. He leaned down, and Sam knew what was coming but there was nothing he could do to stop him. He blew another raspberry on his stomach. 

Sam pulled his shirt down, and Dean went for his neck, instantly taking a sharp shriek from him. “Dean! Dean, I’m serious, stop!” Sam let out another panicked giggle. “Oh my god!” 

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Castiel, out of nowhere, appeared, kneeling down to Sam’s level. “Is he possessed?” 

“No, he’s just laughing.” 

Castiel was frowning. “He looks like he’s in pain.” 

“Cas,” Sam rasped out, reaching out for him. “Help me.” Dean’s fingers traveled down, digging into his armpit. He screamed this time. “Help!” 

Without hesitation, Cas put a hand to his forehead, and he and Sam were suddenly on the sidewalk outside of a strip mall. 

Sam, sprawled out on the ground, heaved, trying to catch his breath. “Thanks, Cas.” He paused. “I thought I was a goner.” He looked over to Cas, who’s head was tilted in amusement. “What?” 

“You’re smiling.” 

“What? No, I’m not.” He most definitely wasn’t. 

“You look very happy, Sam.” He thought for a moment. “I want to try.” 

“Wait, Cas, what are you--” 

In another touch, they were back in the bunker on top of the couch. 

Dean lowered his phone upon seeing them. 

“Dean,” Cas greeted. “Make Sam smile again.”

Dean smirked. “Alright, help me hold him down.” 

“Cas, don’t listen to him. He’s a liar,” Sam started to plead as Cas’s grace wrapped around him. “This is unfair.” 

Dean’s stomach growled loudly, and he hummed as an idea popped into his head. “You take care of Sammy while I go whip something up real quick.” 

“You’re cooking?” Sam asked, eyes popping out of his head. “Is it the end of the world happening again, or--?” 

“I’d watch your mouth if I were in your place,” Dean threatened, suddenly across the room with a hand on his collar. 

“Hm, nah. You really wouldn’t, Dean.” 

He wasn’t wrong. 

Dean considered this, then shrugged. “Well, I pull it off better. You don’t do the smug thing. You have a brat complex going on.” 

“A brat?” Sam parroted. “I’m not a brat.” 

“We could argue, or I could get a jump start on dinner.” With that, Dean was slipping away into the kitchen, leaving Cas with Sam. 

“You can let me go now,” Sam said, sounding as stern as he could. Cas cocked his head to the side, then smiled suddenly. Sam frowned. “I don’t like the look of that.” 

“It would be an inappropriate use of my wings.” Sam’s eyes widened dramatically. He quickly tried to sit up but was rendered immobile. “Humans are most sensitive to pain here--” Cas lightly trailed his finger over the sole of his foot. “And here--” over his knee and in the dip behind his kneecap, “And here,” over the bend of his hip, “And here,” over the inside of his thigh, “and especially,” he paused, trailing a finger up along his torso, barely grazing him before digging into his armpit, “here.” 

Sam was silent, chest hitching with every inaudible laugh. Cas chuckled. “I really like you like this, Sam.” 

If he could, he would flick him off. 

“Cas,” Sam rasped as he dragged his finger across the nape of his neck. He craned his head away the best he could - Cas giving him a little leeway for his own amusement. Now, Sam was smart. He had always been a clever boy. If Cas enjoyed making Sam laugh-cry, he’d like doing that to his favorite hunter even more. “Dean’s pretty ticklish too.” 

“You’re ticklish everywhere, Sam,” Cas observed, lifting up Sam like a sack of grapes to get better access to his side. “Is that genetic?” 

“Yes! Dean,” he rasped out, jabbing his thumb towards the kitchen, “is really ticklish too. Don’t you want to see him happy too?” 

Cas pondered this for a moment. Bubbles of  _ freedom  _ rose up in Sam’s stomach, and he was already relaxing, thank fuck. 

“Okay,” he settled on at last. Sam let out a sigh of relief. “After he’s finished cooking.” 

“Cas!” 

From the kitchen, Dean softly hummed, smiling to himself at the high pitched squeal from his brother. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ok


End file.
